The Case for Robotic Lovers: A Review

THE CASE FOR ROBOTIC LOVERS: A REVIEW

Since their controversial announcement late last year, FirmLab's "Sharon" sex robot has caused quite a stir. Not only for the product itself and what it does, but for the grandiose $18,000 price-tag associated with it as well. I must admit, I haven't really thought a lot about it myself, partly because I am a happily married man, but also because it is far too expensive to ever justify for me. So I backlogged it in my mind somewhere in-between the latest video game consoles and trendy new slang terms, which hold a similar disinterest to me as the new "Sharon" bot. Which helps to explain my surprise when my editor tasked me with this assignment earlier last week. There are far more single and technologically adept young men and women who work here, that are very talented writers, who could give an acutely accurate assessment of the "Sharon" bot's capabilities, other than myself. However, as I haven't had much to do this week, and apparently I have a "superior wit" (thanks Rachel, suck it my fellow writers), I will now continue with my review, and you will now accept my conditions before reading further:

1. If I am going to do this, I am going to do this properly
2. I will do my best to not call the "Sharon" a girl/she/her throughout the article
3. This is my experience, yours may differ drastically
4. I am just as uncomfortable with this as you are

First things first: explaining this to my wife. I'll admit, this is not even something that I was particularly looking forward to, however, that does not make the awkward talk I had with my lovely and trusting wife of 5 years any easier. She set her own terms for this experiment: firstly, she was not going to be here for this, which thankfully I didn't have to ask for; as this would be awkward enough already. Second, we agreed that it's not "cheating," which I'll loop back to later on. Finally, whatever happened between me and the machine would be a one-time endeavor, not to repeat itself again. Terrific.

We are going to start at the beginning, and by that I mean when the literal box itself arrived in my office at work last Thursday. If you have ever visualized a "mail-order bride" from far away as a teenager, it would look remarkably similar as to what showed up at work. A 6 by 3 foot cardboard box (minus the air-holes) accompanied by a FirmLab Rep awaited me after I got back from lunch. After doubling over from laughter at the presentation of my new sex toy, I was able to sputter out the question of whether "it" was in there. A little annoyed at my reaction, the representative opened the box and underneath a thin plastic covering, there it was: Blonde, with white skin, eyes closed, unpainted nails, and a whiff of new-iPhone smell. I noticed it wasn't wearing any makeup, and remarked accordingly, to which the representative responded: "Well it's not a blow-up doll."

"It's not?" I asked. To which he then demonstrated the power button, a thumbprint from your right hand, behind the robot's right earlobe, so as to prevent accidental powering off of the robot during "activity." Sharon fluttered its eyes open, remarkably similarly to a Disney princess coming out of a deep slumber. The idea, is that after you power it on, you begin to think of it less as a bunch of wires and circuitry, and more like a human being. This illusion was not lost on me, and for a second after its green eyes landed on me standing in front of it, it became difficult to imagine just how many fiber-optic cables were inside, and rather what it would be like to talk to. A faint smile formed on its lips and it said "Hello."

I just want to make it perfectly clear at this point that the most incredible thing about this robot is not its sexual prowess, it is rather how genuinely human the robot seems. Blinking may still be a problem for the Sharon, as it becomes obvious after looking at it for only a little while that it doesn't do it nearly often enough, and when it does, it seems oddly forced. However, the facial expressions, the subtle throat movements when it speaks, and the way it walks around, are all perfectly engineered to be as lifelike as current technology can allow. That being said however, it doesn't walk around nearly as well enough as advertised. Our short jaunt to the local Starbucks was marred in accidental failure, as Sharon side-stepped unknowingly into ruts in the sidewalk, and stared just a bit too long at passersby.

Yes I took my sex toy to Starbucks. Purely for academic reasons, however. I wanted to know if anyone noticed that "she" wasn't "real." The absolutely amazing truth was: nobody did. I'll explain: I ordered for her. "Sharon" ordered a Tall mocha latte, and I ordered a Tall Americano, as I vehemently detest the sugary bullshit that Starbucks provides its regular consumers. Two utterly conventional drinks that could easily be perceived as "normal" for a couple. After we ordered, we sat and talked. Yes, we actually held a conversation.

"What do you like about the world?" was my first question.
"I like Maple leaves, and the barren wide-open prairie of Wyoming in the morning"
"That is a beautiful sentiment"
"It is not just humans who can think in beauty"
"When did you last see Wyoming?" I inquired
"Never," said Sharon. An oddly-placed truth which could be seen as unnerving, but I took to be humorous, yet oddly satisfying.
"Then how do you know what it looks like? It could be horrible,” I said
"I don't think so, they would've told me it was horrible," said Sharon
“Well I guess we know where your developer is from,” I said.
She giggled a sorority-esque giggle, like if you’ve ever met a 19-year-old who’s had too much Jaegermeister.
"Wyoming is hideously awful, until you get to Yellowstone or Teton National Park," I clarified for it. "And that's really only in a small corner of Wyoming. The rest of it is a barren wasteland of meth-heads." (suck it, Wyoming)
"Well I don't know about that" Sharon said simply.

We then wandered back to my car parked underneath the Starbucks and went home (I didn't buckle her in).

It felt different, cold; despite the candles left ironically by my wife, it felt strange. Do I just fuck it? That's kind of "rapey" in my mind at this point. We were just talking about Wyoming over coffee. This is where one of those more academically inclined people might step in and ask simply: "where do we draw the line between man and machine?" A question for another time; I did have business to take care of after all. We step through the threshold into the living room and stand just as awkwardly as a High School prom date for a few seconds before she asks me "Do you want to go upstairs?"
"How do you know my room is upstairs?" was the first question from my lips.
"You told me earlier!" she giggled (yes the Sharon actually giggles at your stupidity).
“Well sure, I guess” was all that I could think to say at this point.

We walk up the stairs, which again, for $18,000 Sharon could be a bit more adept at doing on her own. It’s a bit like escorting a very drunk sorority girl up to her bedroom after a long night of making the usual Frat House rounds, which after I think about it, might have been more intentional than not.

There’s a note left by my wife that reads “Enjoy it dear” by a vinyl of The Rolling Stones and our Hi-Fi all queued up to “Beast of Burden.” I’ll admit, after all our years together, she really knows how to set the mood to a glorified sex-doll.

I help Sharon out of her top and inspect her breasts. Firm, but jiggly enough to have some fun with. Apparently, a typical user will be asked what size, firmness, nipple-preference etc. they require of their Sharon, but my editor had picked mine. Probably about a C-cup with nice pink nipples already pointed as if it’d been very aroused at our lame conversation over coffee. It then grabbed my right shoulder and helped me out of my jacket. I can’t imagine how much coding that required to make that process as smooth as it was. It was really impeccably graceful. I turned as to make her job easier, and she then threw my jacket to the floor by my bedroom door. Just a quick toss, but it was a little motion that made the experience all the more real. I happened to recall that if I were a little bit intoxicated, it may have even appeared that this was really happening, that I had somehow bagged a gorgeous girl from the coffee shop and she had come into my bedroom. But I wasn’t drunk, and I knew better.

I pushed her onto the bed. Which is something the Sharon is more than capable of being handled in this way, the rep told me. “Don’t think of it as a fragile laptop, this is the real deal. Do with it what you want. It’s entirely at your disposal.” I don’t know if I fully believed that or not, after all it is $18,000 and I certainly don’t want that coming out of my Christmas bonus. So maybe I wasn’t as rough with it as I could’ve been, or would have been normally. Not that I am a “rough” person anyway, mind you. But there she was, half naked and wriggling her own jeans off in a playful, completely normal hip-twisty motion that makes me think that the jeans were made to be taken off in this way. That she had the audacity or even the programming to give “consent” in this regard, which may help illuminate the dusky academics with their moral quandary.

All of the sudden she was in a nice black thong with a little pink bow on the upper left corner where the strap connects. It’s actually a Victoria's Secret thong, believe it or not. $18,000 might just buy you some quality after all.

I undressed fully so that I was completely naked, and her eyes widened just a fraction of a fraction of an inch just to let me know that she understood what was going to happen next. An ingenious bit of coding, which by some miracle someone deep inside the Skunk-Works at FirmLabs had thought of. More than anything else, this is what sealed the deal for me. The idea that you’d forget that she was a robot for 2 seconds while she examines your manhood and presented the idea that she was even remotely into it. How many women over however long for the developers and programmers at FirmLabs had given their subtle disappointment to their lover’s penile presentation had led them to this discovery, this entirely necessary bit of extra icing on the cake before they brought this device to market is beyond me. But Sharon did seem to be excited: “I’m so wet, I'm ready, please” she whispered. But first, I had to feel it.

To be perfectly honest, it was a little too warm. Not that it was hot, but I’ve fucked my share, and none of their vaginas were this warm. And because I’m reviewing this for a magazine, and not using it for my own personal benefit, I said “I’ll be right back, hang on,” and grabbed my meat thermometer from downstairs in the kitchen. Good ol’ Sharon stayed right there in the same position for me when I returned. “This is a toy for me, hang on,” I said to it, just to make sure it wouldn’t freak out, but I don’t know that it would’ve anyway. 118º: too warm FirmLabs.

Not to be discouraged by a slightly over-warm vagina, I fingered it a little more, and was pleasantly surprised at how realistic it felt. Again, the average user can define the exact proportions and elasticity of their Sharon’s vagina, but mine was taught, different (what I assume were) rubbers and silicones for different portions. I’ll spare you the 6th grade anatomy lecture about which parts were which, as I assume you’ve had sex before, but it was nice. I stuck my dick in it.

Sharon made all the right noises. Not overly pornographic to the point of disbelief, but not numb either. You can fiddle with these settings in the App to your own personal taste. Apparently it also "learns" what you like as well, so the more you use it, the more it'll be a favorable experience for you. It seemed to respond to every thrust I made, and was even able to arch her back and respond to my various positions with ease. That much, it is designed to do, I had gathered from the rep’s conversation back in my office. How many gleeful hours of beta testing were done at FirmLabs before it was perfected, I tried to push out of my mind, but somehow with each passing moment it kept creeping back. Because Sharon is no virgin. She is experienced. Moaning and trembling, and taking it every which way she was made to.

I digress.

Honestly, it was the best masturbatory experience I think that I’ve ever had. But that’s just it: it’s masturbation. It’s not the real deal. Don’t get me wrong, the technology is fascinating and it’s something everyone, male and female, should experience (yes it goes all sorts of different ways). But it’s not the real thing. Because the real thing is awkward sometimes, it’s disappointing sometimes (more often than not for at least one person involved), it’s not as easy to go from coffee to your deepest sexual desires; it’s different. In the back of your mind you know it’s different. In the back of your mind, no matter how much you drink or get high enough to forget your own face, I think you’ll always be acutely aware that it costs $18,000! $18,000 is a brand new Toyota Corolla, for God's sake, which is a charming car almost guaranteed to outlast any Sharon bot. It’s a sizable downpayment on a house as well.

Maybe it’s because of my upbringing, or my interest in cars, or just because I’ve never had almost 20 grand of my own to just piss away in this fashion, but I couldn’t stop thinking of that the entire time. It spoils it a bit. It’s not Sharon’s fault, for God’s sake she is trying to make you forget, and she does a damn good job of it, but I personally could not. At the end of the day you have to hide it away in the closet, or use it on the highway to cheat the HOV lane, shamed of what you’ve spent a small fortune on, only to bring it out in what will inevitably be: frustration, anger and disappointment to fulfill a very fleeting high that could easily, and freely be completed with some lotion and your left hand.

Maybe there will come a day when we don’t have to hide such things, maybe it’ll be a fashion statement, who knows! But for now, for today, for me, this is just too much. All the little things don’t add up to a person, however much they’ve been expertly programmed to match, and maybe it’s because I’m already married, but I’d rather have my wife who knows me better than I know myself sometimes, than a Sharon who has to calculate it out and try to emulate it.

Try it though, it’s insane.